Mycroft
by BBCRULES
Summary: This will be stories about Mycroft Holmes. Some chapters are connected, others not. Mostly they are behind-the-scene stories. Some might be related, others not. Reviews are very appreciated.
1. Behindthesecne TGG

Mycroft stopped the recording and rewound it for ten seconds before. John Watson just stormed out of the building, looking very upset for some reason. He caught a cab and disappeared. Mycroft ordered Anthea to track the taxi's final destination.

Mycroft glanced at his watch. It was almost 10:00 o'clock. Something must have happened. What? A close-up still image of John alarmed him: a look of determination.

_Did Sherlock do something so stupid to drive away the only person that had managed the flatshare so far?_

He needed more data. Mycroft paced around the room and racked his brain to find an excuse to visit his brother. Suddenly the CCTV screen was dead. Something happened. _Malfunctioning? Damn_. His assistant ran into his office without a knock.

"Sir, there was an explosion in an empty building opposite to 221B. CCTV 221 was blown away. The police is on their way. We're not sure if any terrorist group was involved. "

Before Mycroft asked more questions, she answered: she could read Mycroft in a way.

"The 221b building suffered little damage, just a few broken glasses. A new camera will be installed."

"Thanks, Anthea."

Four hours later, Mycroft got the preliminary report on the explosion. There were explosives with a timer. A strong box was remaining, undamaged. The police was investigating but the cause of explosion would be a gas leak to the public until they acquired more data. Around 6 o'clock, Mycroft had to wake up again because a MOD staff, West, was found dead early morning. The dead man had an USB memory stick that held the information about the top secret missile development plan. The USB was missing. Either Andrew West attempted to sell out the information or someone killed him and stole the memory stick.

Two excuses for a visit. The explosion and the missing memory stick. However, they were not what concerned the older Holmes. John Watson was what occupied his mind during his short ride to Baker Street. He knew John had spent the night at his colleague doctor's. Were they dating seriously? He needed the doctor for his brother.

_What should I do about John Watson? What if he decided to move out? What could Sherlock have done to upset John?_

Anthea gave a bouquet of flowers to him when the car stopped near his brother's residence. The street was cordoned off with bricks and debris of the explosion on the ground. Emergency vehicles and police cars were blocking the street. Mycroft knocked at the door of the building. An old lady answered. Holding out the flowers, he smiled and said politely,

"Hello. Mrs. Hudson. I'm sorry to visit you at this early hour. Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother. We corresponded once."

The old lady's look of surprise changed into a smiley welcome. Accepting the flowers, she opened the door to let him in.

"Oh, you're Sherlock's brother. Oh, my. Yes. I remember your letter. Thank you for the flowers, dear."

Mycroft's smile froze. Since when had anyone dared to call him dear? She was oddly bold. Sherlock was a magnet for not-ordinary folks, good or evil.

"Is everything okay? I watched the news and hurried out."

"Thanks. They say a gas leak. Dreadful… Old pipes... Government should do better. Mercifully no casualties."

Mycroft flinched, scribbling a mental note of "safety check" on gas businesses in the nation although the cause of the explosion was not the gas leak. Mrs. Hudson kept talking.

"The opposite building was empty. The owner planned a renovation but got bankrupt, I guess."

Mycroft asked, pointing upstairs.

"Is he?"

"Oh, yes, go ahead. I'll get tea tray upstairs."

Mycroft ran upstairs with Andrew West file and a brolly. He didn't know Mrs. Hudson stared at his brolly before she entered her flat to make tea.

* * *

"Who invited you?"

The usual greeting from his brother wasn't surprising. Sherlock was already dressed up when Mycroft entered the sitting room. Mycroft's eyes scanned the room: broken windows covered with papers, new bullet holes on the wall, a spary-painted smile on the wall. _Wait, are they bullet holes?…_

The floor was rather clean. Sherlock must have vacuumed to clean up the glass shreds and brick powder. A small alert popped up again- _Sherlock wasn't expecting John to come back so he did the clean-up?_

"I was worried about you as usual, Sherlock. The news…"

"You could've called me."

Sherlock picked up his violin on the table.

"You usually don't answer."

"You know I would've answered it last night because I knew you would call. So why are you here besides your concerns about me?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat down on his armchair, gesturing his brother to the opposite chair. He raised his chin up to question about the file.

Mycroft sat down, flipped the file, and said rather gravely,

"You need to find something for the government."

"I'm not interested. I'm busy. In the middle of a big case."

Mycroft's mouth crooked into a smile, well aware that his brother was bored to death.

_Pounding on the wall. In his previous flat, Sherlock had attempted setting the furniture on fire. The next day he got the eviction notice. Where did he get that gun? It must be John Watson's. The gun that he used to save his brother's life from a mad cabbie. _

Mycroft had turned a blind eye on the illicit gun possession although he felt that the army should have supervised its weaponry better. The doctor wasn't supposed to keep his gun.

He saw a look on Sherlock's face. Stubbornness. Childish rivalry.

"An USB stick was lost. Andrew West, a MOD worker, was found dead this morning. It should be your top priority, Sherlock."

"Patriotism doesn't work on me, Mycroft."

Mycroft had to take a deep breath to suppressing the annoyance. He asked nonchalantly,

"Where's John? Is he still asleep?"

"You already know where he spent the night, Mycroft."

Mr. Hudson appeared on the door of the sitting room and said almost apologetically,

"I'm so sorry. I forgot that they had turned off the gas. Can I borrow your electric pot, Sherlock?"

"It's okay, Mrs. Hudson. I can have tea at the office."

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson. My brother could use a diet. So don't bother."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and nodded his thanks to the old lady. Creaks of stairs... Click of her door. He turned on his brother again.

"Why did you upset him?"

"It wasn't me. It was the solar system."

The older brother's mouth twitched little bit, remembering what John wrote in his blog. Sherlock's eyes narrowed. His long fingers started pluck the strings of the instrument.

"Mycroft. I'm not taking the case."

Mycroft sighed in annoyance.

_When could I see YOU behave with maturity? It would never happen in my life time._

The door banged shut. They could hear John's voice calling out Sherlock's name. Mycroft looked into Sherlock's eyes, and warned.

"Be good to the doctor, Sherlock. Or..."

Sherlock was about to retort, "Or what?" as John ran into the sitting room. Sherlock's eyes flew down to his instrument, hiding his emotions, a relief obviously. He was still feeling insecure. Mycroft decided to poke around to assure his brother on John Watson.

* * *

"How's living with Sherlock? Hellish, I imagine?"

"I'm never bored."

Sherlock's mouth twisted into a very weak smile.

"Good. That's good."

Mycroft chuckled at this unexpected reaction. He had almost given up a hope for Sherlock. It seemed his brother was repellant to any kind of relationship with a man or a woman. When he met John Watson, he had a hunch: John was not an ordinary bloke. The doctor was intriguing for he reacted very uniquely to their first meeting or his brother's whims.

_Last night was a danger night. John's patience was wearing thin. What could I do to make John stay longer? Army veteran... Loyalty... A mission for the couuntry._

John fell for it as he expected. Mycroft had no doubts that John would tag Sherlock along, and find the USB memory stick. Another case to work the two.

"See you very soon."

Mycroft turned around. Behind his back, he could hear the dissonant screeches of the violin. Sherlock knew it, too.

* * *

A/N This is a small behind-the-scene snippet. Actually even Mycroft wouldn't be able to have a CCTV camera in the opposite building of the flat- I guess a sort of privacy protection law. So the building is now vacated with its owner bankrupt:-) Hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are so welcome:-) Thanks a lot.


	2. January 6th

Another story about Mycroft on Jan 6th, the year after the fall. He knew Sherlock had faked his death. Thanks for reading. Review is very appreciated:-)

* * *

Mycroft deposited his briefcase on the sidetable, the brolly in the shoe cabinet, and walked into his study. He hung his coat after taking out a small bugging device from the pocket. With a glass of scotch, he sat down and connected the device to the player in PC.

* * *

Today was 6th of January, his brother's birthday. His first birthday after the fall. Mycroft had sent a text to his brother, "Happy Birthday." early morning. No reply so far.

He knew that Lestrade and John had visited the grave in the early afternoon. Later John called him unexpectedly. The doctor asked if he could join them at Mrs. Hudson's residence after work. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and John were going to have dinner together and talk about his "dead" brother.

Silence fell for seconds. John explained. Mrs. Cho, one of his patients, told him that some Asian countries celebrate the first birthday of the dead as if the person were still alive: family members gather together and indulge in reminiscence. John wanted to do the same for Sherlock. Lestrade was coming. Dr. Hooper was invited yet she couldn't come. Mycroft appreciated the invitation, and promised to come over after dinner. But he promised to send some take-out food to Mrs. Hudson's for them.

A vase of flowers, a nice Japanese take-out for four people, and a couple of good-quality wines were sent to 221A. He called Mrs. Hudson and asked to place the vase in the center of the table. Actually he had put a small bug inside the rim of the vase. He just wanted to hear what Sherlock's friends talk about Sherlock.

* * *

Although he knew that his brother was alive and well, tackling down Moriarty's network, he was rather depressed in the morning. The old brolly that young Sherlock Holmes had given him for a Christmas present was broken in half. He felt like it was a bad omen. John's phone call didn't help. Sentiment...a great disadvantage. That was why he had placed a bug in the vase impulsively.

* * *

221A

"It was delicious."

"You know, I didn't understand how people could eat raw fish. Then I happened to visit a sushi restaurant owned by Jake Malcom. Malcom had been a suspect, yet Sherlock had helped a bit and he was acquitted at the trial. He had invited my department people and Sherlock. That was before you came long, John. The sushi just melted inside my mouth like ice cream."

"How was it, Mrs. Hudson?"

"I don't know about raw fish, but some rice rolls were tasty. What shall we do about the wine? I wonder when Mycroft would arrive."

John helped her to clean away the dishes and said,

"Well, let's have tea or coffee. I'll get the kettle. We can have wine when Mycroft comes."

There were rattles of china, creaks of wooden chairs, and rustles of clothes. The tea was ready. The three people had little in common but Sherlock. The detective died to save their lives, and they would be indebted forever for his choice. Tabloid reporters swarmed away in search of a recent royal scandal. Truths about the detective trickled down: his deduction was infallible and valid. The three people found a new normalcy in their lives: they did their best because that was the only thing they could reward Sherlock's sacrifice.

* * *

"Stamford took me to Bart's and introduced me to Sherlock as a potential flatmate. The funny thing was that he already knew I was looking for a flatshare, and was an army doctor invalided from Afghanistan recently."

John started with his first memory of Sherlock Holmes. Two years ago, he was a useless man or he had thought so. The encounter with the sleuth had changed everything in his life.

"Your friend, Stamford might have talked about you, John."

"No, Mrs. Hudson. I came across Mike in a park and he took me to Sherlock right away."

"He's like that, John. He was. He did the same thing to me when I saw him for the first time. My ex-wife and I had a row because I had lost my wedding ring. She found it in the bedroom and I was taking her to a nice restaurant. He stared at me for a minute and told all of it. Mind-blowing."

"When did you meet him first, Greg?"

"About ten years before you became a team."

Mrs. Hudson was surprised,

"Oh, I thought I was the person that has known Sherlock for the longest time, then. I met him in Florida five or six years ago."

"Florida! Sherlock said he had helped you. He told me when I visited your building for the first time."

Lestrade cut in with a question.

"Did he? What happened, if you don't mind, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Well, tonight is not a good time for that old story, gentlemen. I'd rather talk about him that three of us knew."

The two men agreed as she looked rather uncomfortable at the topic. John took a sip of his tea and said,

"It's been 6 months. Time flies so fast."

"He was a real arrogant arse when he started working with me. He changed when you moved in, John."

"He didn't change a bit."

John said in a stern voice, and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade looked at each other and smiled because they knew what John was about to say.

"A reminder. We had never been a couple."

Lestrade chuckled at John's defensive attitude. Mrs. Hudson said in a soothing way.

"He meant that the boy treated you like we've never seen him treat anyone else."

"Yeah, he asked you to accompany him to the crime scene. I doubted my ears when he said twice that you were with him. The pink phone case..."

"He said he needed an assistant as Anderson didn't work well with him. He just asked if I wanted to see more corpses!"

"And you must have said, YES! A perfect match! You and Sherlock."

"Greg!"

John protested, and Lestrade said in a serious voice.

"Sherlock looked down on almost everybody, not just Anderson. He used to work alone. He hated any other's presence, saying it kept him from thinking. No wonder some Yarders thought you two were..."

John rolled his eyes in exasperation, which made Mrs. Hudson smile weakly. After drinking her first cup of tea, the landlady said,

"John. Sherlock was lonely. He needed someone who could understand and tolerate all of his... his..."

"Asperger's symptoms?"

John chuckled at Lestrade's words, remembering the hound case. Lestrade joined him and the two had a good laugh: they had forgotten what it was like to laugh since the fall. Their laugh was contagious and the puzzled look on Mrs. Hudson's face changed into a big smile. She declared,

"John. You were different to him. I saw it."

Lestrade agreed,

"You complimented his deductions while most of us treated him as the Freak. Sherlock normally didn't elaborate on how he had made the deduction. He did slow down and walked it through with you when you asked. He did at the pink lady's case, the Vermeer fake picture case...and so many others."

The doctor remembered Sherlock detailing things for him. Later Sherlock got into a habit of treating John as his second-self and omitting many details later, putting on a very annoying face of "We-both-know-what's-going-on."

Greg's voice changed into a low, mischievous tone.

"I know it was you who dealt with the mad cabbie. Sherlock was telling me the possible shooter's profile and then stopped abruptly when he saw you. I didn't make the connection at that time because I didn't know that you were an army doctor. I thought you were Sherlock's unlucky flatmate. You had proved your loyalty to him."

For Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade tersely explained that John had saved Sherlock from a mad serial killer. She patted John's hands gently, not caring that much about the implication that John' had killed the man.

Two pills. The crack shot. Sherlock draped with a shock blanket. The second meeting with Mycroft Holmes.

John giggled. As the others asked why, he started to talk about his first meeting with Mycroft Holmes. The CCTV cameras, kidnapping to a parking lot...and the first impression as a criminal mastermind. Lestrade burst into a chuckle as he knew it very well: he had experienced it. Mrs. Hudson chided them quietly for laughing about Sherlock's brother and reminded them that Mycroft had just lost his only sibling. It made them somber and serious. Mrs. Hudson sounded as if she were really worried about the older brother. After a minute of uncomfortable silence, Mrs. Hudson asked if anyone wanted more tea.

The doorbell rang. Mycroft. Speak of the Devil! Mrs. Hudson put more water in the kettle while John went out to greet the older brother.

* * *

The older Holmes was smiling while he listened to the dialogue. Suddenly he felt a little jealous of his little brother. Sherlock had friends who remembered him in fondness. The older Holmes, although he had by far better social skills, was lonely. His position brewed many enemies. He wasn't sure about friends: he often got an impression that so-called friends regarded his power more important than himself. He wondered if anyone would remember him after his death.

Feeling gloomier, Mycroft had just finished his scotch and was heading to his bedroom when his mobile alerted an incoming text.

_-Thanks, brother. Just a piece of cake today. Mind your diet. SH-_

Mycroft smiled. His baby brother. He knew there was affection behind the childish feud between them. He found superglue in the tool box and sat down to fix the broken brolly. He used to wonder why Sherlock had to be his brother as he was tired of tying up the loose ends of Sherlock. Today he was thankful that Sherlock was his. After gluing the brolly back, he just prayed that Sherlock could be home on his next birthday, back to his friends and his brother.


	3. Empty Hearse

This is another Mycroft chapter. Mycroft didn't know Sherlock had jumped but that wasn't dead until he noticed things at the morgue. It could be connected to chapter 2 of the"Empty House". Thanks for reading. Reviews are very appreciated.

* * *

Downing Street, No 10

Mycroft stared into emptiness. He had dropped the phone on the floor. He forgot the cabinet meeting that he had to return. Instead, he called Anthea to get the car ready. His legs moved automatically to the parking lot. Ten minutes ago he knew something dreadful must have happened when his assistant Anthea dared to interrupt the meeting. Her voice had cracked when she passed the phone over in the corridor.

"This is Mycroft Holmes."

"Mr. Holmes. This is Ms. Hales of Bart's. 23 Minutes ago, Mr. Sherlock Holmes was found on the perimeter of the Bart's. He had jumped from the rooftop and taken his own life. His body is…"

Silence fell.

"Mr. Holmes, are you there?"

"I'm on my way. Thank you."

Anthea followed, whispering instructions to cancel all schedules; and to contact the funeral house that the Holmes family had used. He heaved heavily himself on the back seat of the car. All of a sudden, he felt as if his stomach acid spurts backward. Clutching his chest hard, he closed his eyes because he couldn't believe all of these. The car started but he didn't realize it.

* * *

Bart's

_Is it Moriarty? Or one of his snipers?_

Moriarty. The roiling anger seethed and burnt his heart. All of a sudden, the woman's words popped up in his head.

_Thank God for the consultant criminal. Gave me a lot of advice about how to play the Holmes boys... Didn't even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble. _

All of these were Moriarty's plan to burn the heart out of him. Moriarty knew how to play the Holmes brothers. He had attempted to give a dagger to Sherlock to stab on the back of Mycroft when Sherlock naively cracked the MOD official's e-mail. After the plan failed, he decided to intervene in person, staging the crime of the century and framing Sherlock into a trap. The criminal mastermind knew the younger one's disgraceful suicide would be the bull's eye hit.

_I'll pursue you to the ends of the world. You'll regret it, Moriarty._

His cold eyes showed nothing but a determination. It took less than usual amount of time to get to the Bart's. He saw it: the dark red pool on the pavement. An officer was standing near it. That was where his brother had fallen. He saw the DI Lestrade flinch at the sight of him. Ignoring the DI, he entered the door and headed to the morgue with Anthea. Lestrade lingered around, looking completely defeated and lost, but didn't dare to offer his condolences to the older brother. Mycroft knew about the raid last night. He couldn't care less as he knew his brother couldn't have committed a suicide just because he had become a fugitive. However, he had no intention to relieve the guilt from the DI. All of his brain cells were focused on Moriarty.

_Where could he be?_ _Moriarty had to be behind this. Lestrade was just a pawn._

Each step that he took... He couldn't feel the floor. Grabbing the door knob, the older Holmes took a deep breath, and realized he didn't have a brolly. He knocked twice and walked into the morgue.

Two slabs were occupied. Actually there were two body bags. A woman with a ponytail approached him and said her condolences.

"I'm very sorry for your loss. Sir."

"Ms. Hooper, I presume. I'm Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock's brother."

Mycroft's voice broke.

"Is it true …."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Holmes."

Molly zipped open one fifth of the body bag on the left. A brand new body bag. Mycroft noticed that It even had a price tag. Well, she might have taken out a new one for his brother.

There he was: bloody black curls stiff in blood; closed eyes; pale lips… He let out a small groan. His baby brother...lied there, so pale and beautiful. He could've done anything for Sherlock if he could hear the sneering comment on his diet. Only silence fell. His fingers gently touched the forehead of the dead brother. It was icy cold. He looked away, not able to bear the silence. With shoulders tensed, he tried hard not to break down here in the presence of a woman.

"Time of Death; 9:43, we believe."

It was about an hour ago.

_Damn surveillance. How could he have not noticed?_

Ms. Hooper zipped the body bag up hastily. She understood it. She looked into the file and continued.

"John Watson saw Sherlock fall. John told that Sherlock had made his last call for his "note"."

Her voice trembled at a raw sorrow of losing a man that she had fancied one-sidedly.

"He saw? Where's John?"

"He's being treated now. Some shocks. And concussion, I guess, because a biker had hit him right after Sherlock jumped. It's not serious but John is disoriented."

Molly hesitated and then whispered,

"I need you to sign here to confirm that you have identified his body. Do you want an autopsy?"

"No. The cause of death is obvious: a fall from a great height."

In a numbness, Mycroft felt a roiling anger again.

_Moriarty. Wait. Why two body bags?_

He pointed at the other body bag.

"Who is inside?"

"It's Jim. Jim Moriarty, it seems."

"What? Can I see him?"

In disbelief, Mycroft's face hardened. Molly hastily opened the bag for him. James Moriarty's lifeless face was there with his eyes blankly open.

"Gun shot?"

"Yes, a self-inflicted gunshot. He must have pulled the trigger with his gun in his mouth. His body was found on the rooftop."

_Something must have happened on the rooftop. What could it be? Who died first? Did Moriarty culminate his grandiose plot by shooting himself after he saw Sherlock jump? A lot to investigate..._

Mycroft muttered out,

"The Secret Service is to take over the suicide of James Moriarty. I think my brother's, too."

"What? No. you can't."

Mycroft raised his eyes. Molly stuttered, not knowing what to say.

"It's just...Sherlock's case is quite obvious. Wouldn't it better to let him rest?"

"I need to know what had happened on the rooftop. Moriarty is still dangerous. His body can't be released to his family yet."

Mycroft Holmes caught a fleeting look on the face of Ms. Hooper.

"You knew James Moriarty, didn't you? You called him Jim."

"We...dated for three times. He was a gay and we broke up. It was long time ago."

"Ms. Hooper. I may want you to accompany me and answer some questions about him, too. I'll ask Lestrade to drive John home."

Molly nodded. Mycroft signed the necessary documents, and instructed his assistant a few things.

* * *

Molly felt jittery while waiting for Mycroft to come back. Would she be able to keep the secret? This wasn't going well. Sherlock had expected that Mycroft would leave his body in the morgue. This was wrong, very wrong. Once, Mycroft could've been deceived. But a second look would reveal that Sherlock was not dead. She bit her lips, not sure what to do next. Mycroft knocked her office door and that made her jump. In silence, they headed out to the gate. Molly saw an unmarked van leave with Moriarty's body. A couple of cars followed it. There was an ambulance waiting. Mycroft pointed at it and said,

"Shall we go?"

"Where?"

"The Manor. Uh, my house in the country."

Molly's eyes opened wide open. Mycroft answered the unspoken question.

"As you said, my brother might have wanted the privacy of home. We take the ride with him. The funeral house staff will be there in an hour."

She got on the back of the ambulance. His voice tone had subtly changed and it made her nervous, very nervous. Mycroft sat next to her. Sherlock's body had been moved there. The ambulance joined the early afternoon traffic of the busy London streets. Molly felt dizzy; her whole body was trembling; and Mycroft's eyes were observing every subtle movement of the pathologist.

"When was the last time that you saw my brother? Ms. Hooper?"

"What? Last ni... I mean, yesterday morning. He came to the lab to analyze footprint samples at a crime scene."

Mycroft's shoulders tensed; he almost hear the word that Molly had stopped in the middle. She was saying last night.

_What might have brought Sherlock to go to Barts' lab after he became a fugitive and met Kitty Riley?_

He remembered the conversation with the doctor last night.

_John's disdainful stares... Molly Hooper and morgue... Why did Sherlock make John witness his fall? Was his little brother that low and mean?_

A realization came all of a sudden: Molly Hooper, Bart's, a new body bag, the body's cold skin, the darkred blood... He didn't realize the short outcry from his mouth. His heart was about to burst with a hope, so ridiculous hope. He sat closer to the body bag and to Molly's horror, started to poke around the body. In a stern voice, he barked at the bag.

"Time's up for your great stunt! Little brother. Let's talk!"

Molly could barely say anything: for a brief moment, she doubted his sanity. Then the body bag squirmed like a big fat caterpillar, and finally there was a small opening of the zipper. There was the face of the detective, frowning and groaning. The detective coughed,

"You noticed."

"Of course. Now, we're almost at the Manor. Stay inside and don't move."

Mycroft's voice trembled out of joy and anger. When the ambulance parked in front of the Holmes Manor, Molly looked around and noticed that they were not any more in London. The ambulance had just stopped iin front of an old mansion surrounded by forests. Mycroft pulled the trolley into the indoor garage himself. A woman who looked like his personal assistant got out of the driver's seat. They talked in low whispers, and then soon two armed vehicles arrived at the house. People who looked like special agents spread out and stood guard.

"Ms. Hooper."

"Sorry."

She hurried inside the garage. As soon as the garage door closed, Mycroft pulled down the zipper and helped his brother to sit up. While trying to relax stiff muscles of his long arms and legs, Sherlock chuckled low and said,

"Mycroft. I expected you'd notice."

"Quite transparent."

The older brother held out his hand to support the young man. They walked into the hall. Sherlock winced when he had to move his left arm. Mycroft called out her name.

"Ms. Hooper. Come on in. Let's talk over tea."

* * *

"How did you know, Mr. Holmes , that I was in the plan?"

"The place that Sherlock had chosen... Why Bart's? Of course he frequented there for experiments and crime investigations. And he would be the last person to care about sentiment of the people left behind but there are tens of thousands of buildings in central London to pick. Why Bart's? It wasn't high enough to ensure the instant death from a fall. About 35 feet?"

Mycroft poured tea for Molly. The manor, normally unoccupied except a few weekends and Christmas, was surprisingly well-furbished. He shot a deadly glare at his younger brother, who had just walked into the sitting room after a shower and change of clothes.

"There were you at Bart's. Sherlock's friend. And the friend happens to work in the morgue and have an access to John Does."

Molly felt her face blush.

_Stupid. This was not the right time_.

Mycroft poured tea for his brother, too, pretending that he hadn't notice her face.

"A new body bag. The color of coagulated blood. Too red. The color had to be more pink given the cerebral fluid oozing from cracked skull. Also his skin felt too coldi for a body that died an hour ago. You must have used an ice pack or something."

"I don't know what to say."

Molly realized that Mycroft was as brainy as Sherlock.

"And your face when I told you that the secret service was to take over the investigation."

"Molly. You are the worst liar ever lived on earth."

Sherlock said, and emptied his cup with a few sips.

"Drink more. You must have been dehydrated."

Mycroft poured another cup. He continued, while urging his guests to help themselves to the apple pie and pound cake slices on the table.

"Most of all, Sherlock, my brother, couldn't have cared that much about how people thought of him. The scandal. Kitty Riley's expose."

"Quite true."

Sherlock agreed, and took a bite of a pound cake slice. Mycroft asked,

"I think I deserve the answer for the bloody a few hours that I had spent in hell. Why did you jump?"

"Moriarty had three snipers trained on three people: John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. If I hadn't jumped, they would've died."

Molly screamed in horror. She couldn't imagine how the sweet Jim could've plotted it.

"Ms. Hooper. I've taken out the first-aid kit. He might have cracked or broken his left arm. Can you check it? I'll get my laptop here. We'll need it. Do you mind if I record your words?"

"Not at all."

Molly jumped up to help Sherlock and the older brother left the room. After ten minutes, he walked back and glanced at a slinged arm of his brother. Opening his laptop on the table, Mycroft said in a stern voice,

"Now, from this moment, we have to be very honest to each other. No stunt or trick. Sherlock. I thought John should be the last person to know that you are alive. So I asked the DI to take John home."

"Well thought, Mycroft. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and John shouldn't know this. Molly, do you understand?"

She nodded, and noticed that the older brother's face was beaming. It was a simple two-word compliment from Sherlock but it seemed to have invigorated the older brother. Mycroft noticed Molly's stare, and hastily said,

"Now, Ms. Hooper. Tell us whatever you know about Moriarty. Any small trivia will do."

* * *

After an hour, Mycroft thanked Molly. He also notified that Molly would be on his surveillance, and a couple of guards would be trained on her at work and at home. He also gave her his number just in case. Sherlock thanked Molly again for her help. That had to be the best compliment possible from the sleuth ever. Sherlock gave her a brief hug with a peck on her each cheek and entered the manor, leaving Molly frozen at the spot. Mycroft thanked her and instructed the driver to give her a ride to her home.

Two text alerts came. It was from Mycroft's number.

_-Funeral two days later. MH.-_

_-Take care of John. Thanks. SH.-_

_I promise, Sherlock, to make everybody fine until you come back._

Muttering to herself, Molly punched a short text back. There were so many things to say but only two words to type.

_-Be safe. Molly.-_

Molly leaned on the back seat and sighed. Funeral... would take place with an empty hearse. She had to face the people who would be in deep grievance like John and Mrs. Hudson there. How could she keep the secret that Sherlock wasn't dead? She steeled herself, dreading the funeral that would surely come in two days.

* * *

_Thanks for reading. Sometimes, when I work on the ff. site, I find a few phrases CHOPPED and posted after I publish the story. I just corrected them. Sorry:-)_


	4. Oh shut up, Mrs Hudson

A/N: This is a snippet of behind-the-scene: 201. Hope you enjoy reading the story. Your reviews are very much appreciated. Thanks. This is loosely related to "An Idea". All the characters are fictional.

* * *

"What happened?"

"There was a shooting accident at Irene Addler's residence. One American died, and two Americans were wounded. Ms. Addler's whereabouts is unknown. Her assistant is being investigated, yet she doesn't know anything but a prick on her neck."

Mycroft's brows furrowed.

"What happened to my brother?"

"He's been drugged and moved to his flat by John Watson and DI Lestrade. John Watson apparently called the DI for help."

"What drug?"

Mycroft's voice rose in the panic that Sherlock was exposed to recreational drugs. It had been only three or four years that his brother stayed off the drugs. Sherlock was still a recovering addict.

"The lab is processing the syringe now, yet it is safe to assume that it was Ketamine. John Watson agreed."

Ketamine might cause difficulty speaking, wobbly movements and confusion, but Sherlock would recover all right. With all the cases from DI Lestrade would keep his brother from using the drugs again. That was the only reason that Mycroft had approved Sherlock's being a consulting detective. Mycroft asked in a calm and low voice, which made Anthea flinch. She knew Mycroft's anger was on the rise.

"Who are the Americans? Thugs? Crime organization members?"

"They are...CIA agents."

Mycroft raised his eyes, comprehending this new information.

"CIA... "

"According to John Watson, they pointed a gun at his head and threatened Sherlock to open the safe. The safe was booby-trapped, and killed an agent when Sherlock opened its door."

"Get me Mr. Johnson of CIA. Right now. And stop the ongoing investigation of shooting right now."

Mycroft pressed his temples with his thumbs, inhaled deeply to control his temper, and waited for the call.

* * *

Lestrade sent a video footage of Sherlock in the police car to Mycroft's mobile. The video was short, less than 2 minute-long. Sherlock seemed to be fine, though he kept babbling about the woman, the dominatrix, and Moriarty. His face was bruised, bleedy, and swollen. It didn't help Mycroft to calm himself down although he could assume it was John who did it. Possibly an excuse to enter Addler home.

Mycroft felt his anger escalate again. At the center of London… three Britons…and American agents threaten to kill them? This could develop into a diplomatic nightmare. And what if something had gone wrong and either John or Sherlock had been killed? Just to imagine the scene was a spine-chiller.

Mycroft made a few calls to Mr. Johnson, and his bosses. Meanwhile, he sent a text to Lestrade and requested the video clip to be deleted immediately.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes was standing outside the door of 221B at 7:15 next morning. He tossed and turned overnight, blaming himself for sending his little brother to a danger.

Irene Addler's camera phone. It had looked like a simple and obvious matter when Miss Addler had informed the existence of photos. Although she did declare she had no intention of using the photos to demand money or favor, there was an ample possibility that the photos could be used for a black mailing or fallen into a wrong hand. Sherlock was trustable, much more reliable than his own secret service agents. As far as he could deduce, his brother succeeded to locate the phone and take it away from the woman for a few minutes before he was drugged. Mycroft hadn't foreseen that there would be other intelligence agencies that were after the Addler's phone. And Miss. Addler, the bold, clever, and dangerous woman! Sherlock couldn't have known about the recreational drugs and kinky things that sex workers often do.

Mr. Johnson briefed him about some "other" information of significance that Miss. Addler had: all of them were political time bombs. The two men had a stormy meeting last night. Mr. Johnson showed up late in the night and had promised Sherlock's safety(and John's) in return for Mycroft's cooperation in the retrieval of the camera phone- a mutual interest to both countries, the CIA bloke had said. Mycroft ordered a thorough inspection of the secret service and MOD staff just in case. He hoped that there would be no secrecy breach, hoping that there would be no secret service agent or MOD official who used the woman's service.

There was an ample possibility that terrorists might try another September 11 tragedy, using airplanes. The Coventry project had to succeed; the British and American secret services had to coordinate fully; and Mrs. Johnson and Mycroft agreed to put aside the grudges.

* * *

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson. How have you been?"

Mrs. Hudson glared at the older Holmes when she opened the door and let him in. She pretended not to hear his greeting and disappeared into her flat. Sherlock had just woken up and was still in the toilet. John was making tea when he walked upstairs.

"Tea?"

John asked and poured tea into two cups. Mycroft asked tentatively about Sherlock's condition while taking a sip of the tea.

"Well, a lot of babbling, disorientation and confusion... He kept asking about the woman. But he was asleep when I checked on him. So he'll be fine."

Sherlock walked out of the toilet after spending unusually longer time. His face shined except the bruise on his left cheek.

"Going somewhere? You shine like a..."

"Mycroft."

Sherlock cut in John's words. Sherlock seemed to be rather in good mood: he nodded and sat on his chair. A normal Sherlock would already look very defiant after the fiasco at Miss. Addler's. Mycroft wondered why while John's nervous eyes fleeted between the brothers.

A nice distraction. Mrs. Hudson brought up a tray of boiled eggs, salad, and bread. While she poured coffee and set the dishes on the table, she didn't ask if Mycroft would like to join. Mycroft noticed she was rather hostile to him this morning: her foul mood was obvious in the clattering of the dishes.

* * *

_The previous night, 221B_

_"What happened?, John? He's unconscious."_

_"Nothing, Mrs. Hudson. Don't worry. Just one of his cases."_

_John and Greg Lestrade supported the detective to his bedroom. Mrs. Hudson followed and stared at Sherlock's face in alarm. Even in the dim light, Sherlock's face was obviously swollen._

_"Why is his face bleeding and swelling?"_

_Her harsh tone made John flinch. The doctor turned red and stuttered,_

_"You know it's Sherlock..."_

_"John, he was taken to somewhere this morning and a few hours later. Now he's here, unconscious and hurt. What the hell did happen?"_

_"Uh, Mycroft assigned Sherlock with a task...and...there were armed..."_

_Mrs. Hudson's eyes flashed in anger. John swallowed hard, and mumbled out a good night when the landlady declared that she would bring up breakfast for her boys the following morning. They walked downstairs to see Lestrade off. The door closed, and John appreciated her offer and ran upstairs._

* * *

Mycroft wasn't sure what he had to ask first. About the phone, the woman, or the CIA agents. Well, it seemed that Sherlock was able to read what was on his mind. The detective said rather brusquely that the woman had no intention of scandalize the royal family.

"The photos are perfectly safe."

Mycroft appreciated the gesture secretly, but still was disappointed that they didn't get the camera phone. Sherlock could have done it better. If only his brother hadn't been such a show-off at the palace... Mycroft blurted out,

"In the hands of a fugitive sex worker."

The clattering in the kitchen stopped abruptly, and the landlady marched to the table with a coffee pot in her hand. Pouring more coffee to John's mug, she chided,

"Family is all we have in the end Mycroft Holmes!"

For one tenth of a second, Mycroft felt so ashamed. She had just hit the nail's head. What kind of brother he was. He had sent Sherlock to a mortal danger. He felt Sherlock eyes on his face. Before he could stop himself, words already came out of his mouth.

"Oh shut up Mrs. Hudson!"

Instantly Mycroft was horrified at himself. Where did his manner go? Up to now he had barely exposed his emotions to others except his brother. He was the social propriety itself. Even without the glares from Sherlock and John, he was utterly speechless, regretting what he had just said. He looked down at the floor, not knowing what to say.

"Mycroft!"

He knew he had to apologize. "Apologies."

Embarrassed, Mycroft was thinking about leaving the place when Sherlock hastily told his landlady.

"Though in fact, do shut up."

Mycroft relaxed a bit. Sherlock wasn't blaming him for anything that had happened at Miss. Addler's. The detective knew Mycroft would be the last person to send him to a mortal danger. It was true that the brotherly relationship had been rather prickly; Christmas dinners often ended up with childish feuds; but they cared for each other. Sherlock might not always appreciate his constant concerns but at least acknowledged Mycroft was well-intended.

Mrs. Hudson might have said a few words more, but Sherlock's mobile moaned to everybody's surprise. A good distraction it was! He could see Sherlock trying to put on a nonchalant face. It was so Addler-like. Mycroft knew it was the dominatrix. Was she marking her victory the previous night by personalizing the text alert noise of his brother's mobile? She still had the camera phone.

Mycroft answered the incoming call outside the sitting room. An MOD staff was a regular of Irene Addler. Chris Stuart had just admitted that the dominatrix had taken a picture of an e-mail on the allocation of the Bond Air seats. The message was just one line, and there would be no one to crack it unless it was either of the Holmes brothers.

Miss. Addler's camera phone had much more secrets than Mycroft had expected. Actually the embarrassing photos were the least of his concerns. Secret agents from a few countries like the U.S., Russia, Germany...were after the camera phone. Sherlock shouldn't be involved anymore. Most of all the Coventry project was at stake.

Mycroft walked back and told his brother to get his hands off the case. A normal Sherlock wouldn't listen, but his voice tone made the younger brother realize the significance of the matter. Sherlock shrugged it off in compliance, and started to play the violin behind Mycroft's back when the older brother left the flat.


	5. Walk into the spotlight

Another behind-the-scene story between 103 and 201. Sherlock obviously changed from a private consulting detective to a well-known Reichenbach hero. Why did he change? He would be the last person to seek fame or honor... It all starts with John's blog: a flood of potential clients knocked the door of 221B. Thanks for reading.

* * *

**March 29th, Holmes Manor (The day at the pool)**

"Did you fire Mrs. Parson? It doesn't taste right."

Sherlock frowned at his soup, put down his spoon, and instead took a bite of cheese sandwich.

"Her wrist cracked. She's taking holidays."

"So you got a new cook?"

"No, I've brought in boxes of canned soup, fruits, and cereals. She's coming back next week."

"Humn."

" Come over when she's back."

"Why?"

"Because Mrs. Parson will be thrilled to see you, Sherlock. And as far as I know, John has booked airline tickets for two people to New Zealand next week."

"He didn't ask me about my schedule."

"With the doctor, his colleague."

"Oh. Sarah."

Silence fell while the two brothers finished their dinner. Mycroft's keen eyes bore into Sherlock's. His brother was obviously annoyed at John's "planned" absence. Sherlock left half of the sandwich. He took out the USB memory chip and placed it on the table.

"Here you are. Andrew West's. The killer is..."

"His brother-in-law, I assume. Based on the forensic report."

"You've known it all the time. Why made me do the work?"

"Well, I hate legwork. And legwork is essential to obtain evidence. And John Watson. He needed some adventure for the Queen and the country."

Sherlock understood it. John's out-of-time departure from the flat the previous night must have alarmed his brother. Glancing at his wrist watch, Sherlock said he had to go. Mycroft stopped him.

"Have tea. You've got time. You've just tackled a national crisis. The Queen might consider a knighthood for you."

The detective uttered out a short cry meaning "No." Mycroft didn't flinch at the glare from the detective, but added pleadingly, not wanting to ruin this rare opportunity of brotherly dinner.

"But I'll say no to the Queen if she expresses her wish in the next teatime."

"I'm a private consulting detective. Publicity and tabloids are not really my cup of tea."

Mycroft chuckled, thinking how much they were similar to each other: both men loved to hide behind the scene. Sherlock was rather a show-off type, but not on a big stage. Sherlock sat on the chair and whispered.

"He might call again. I have to be ready."

"Who?"

"Someone new. I had told you. Jim Moriarty. You remember the gas leaks, one near my flat and the other in North Leeds? Someone's out there, forcing people to put on Sam vest and toss me a murder mystery. There were five pips. I've solved four cases. There's still one left. "

Mycroft frowned. The police was investigating the two cases of "gas leak": he didn't expect the two were connected.

"So did you say there have been how many? Four?"

"Yes, except this Bruce Partington case from you"

Mycroft poured tea into two cups. Sherlock briefed his older brother about the bomber's challenge over the past 24 hours.

"Ugh, he's playing a game with me. Why? It might be a distraction. His real purpose must be something else. Have there been someone who were eager to acquire the missile plan? Some organization, terrorist cells, rogue states...

"To my relief, no."

Mycroft pondered over for a few minutes, and asked,

"By any chance, do you have the first envelop that had the pink phone?"

"Hugh? Yes, here it is."

Sherlock took out the envelop on the table. Mycroft studied it for a few seconds.

"Expensive paper, a nice pen. An iridium parker fountain pen... A perfect handwriting... A female's."

"Yes, this is a woman's handwriting."

"But you said the blind victim described "his" voice as soft?"

Sherlock looked down on the floor and closed his eyes.

"Brother... The old woman shouldn't have described him. I technically solved the case, but I couldn't save her."

"Stop there. It's not your fault. Caring is a disadvantage, Sherlock. You need to focus on the case, only. Detach yourself from emotions."

Sherlock just took a few sips of his tea. Suddenly the detective looked vulnerable: he had the eyes of a six-year-old boy. Mycroft continued,

"So the person behind this madness...has a soft voice. It could be a woman's voice."

"But the old woman said, "his".

"She was blind. That person could be one of the minions. Or the person could've used a voice modulator. The real mastermind can be a man or a woman."

"You're right. I have to consider both possibilities."

Mycroft stared at the glowing fireplace.

"You got one pip left. You make your move."

"I've got nothing that he might be interested in."

Sherlock's eyes were fixed on the USB memory stick on the table. Mycroft opened his briefcase and took out an identical memory stick.

"I know what you're thinking. I can't let you use this original. I'll get you a new identical memory chip without the information."

"Fair enough."

Sherlock agreed and pocketed the vacant USB memory stick.

"You said he, well for now let's assume it's he, normally sends you a photo and then after some time, after you identify the place or a person in the photograph, then he calls you?"

"Yes, and he hasn't sent anything. This is the last pip. He has to show up this time. He has to talk with me in his own voice. How would he do that?"

Mycroft said,

"At least you can make your move first. Set a place and a time."

The detective stood up.

"You're right. I got the idea."

"Mind if you let me know where and when?"

"Tonight."

"The place?"

"I can't tell you because I know you're going to train a few agents on me. Then he won't show up. I'll take John's pistol just in case. I don't think he would harm me tonight. He had said that he and I are alike."

"What about John?"

"He can't be a part of tonight's plan. Too dangerous."

Mycroft's shoulder stiffened very briefly, and then he nodded,

"Sherlock. Take care. Call me later."

The sleuth hurried out, and the older brother sat heavily in his armchair and stared at the empty tea cups. Sherlock started to care about people, at least for John Watson. That could be his greatest weakness. He reminded himself that he had to talk about it before this sentiment could break the heart of his brother.

* * *

**Ten days later, Holmes manor**

Mrs. Parson had a knack of forcing people to finish what was put on a plate somehow. Sherlock felt like his stomach would burst open soon with a full meal of a steak, mashed potato, beans, and salad. He should've declined the chocolate-coated strawberries, but Mrs. Parson told him that she had harvested the strawberries - organic- in her own small garden. She knew how to get "Yes" out of Sherlock, and Sherlock's eyes narrowed with chocolate smudge on his lips as his older brother chuckled low. The two brothers entered Mycroft's study: tea was ready. Sherlock loosened his belt and groaned.

"Mrs. Parson hasn't changed."

"An excellent cook since ...you were ten years old, Sherlock."

"I can't think properly now. Digestion is bad for my brain."

Mycroft smiled, and swore that he would make Sherlock eat at the manor more. He knew Mrs. Parson could make Sherlock come again. He changed the topic before Sherlock could read what's on his mind.

"So John's having a nice time in New Zealand with Sarah?

Sherlock shrugged and said,

"It will take less time for you to find out if you contact your friends in Wellington. He hasn't contacted me since he turned his mobile off at the Heathrow."

Mycroft flipped the file in front of him, gesturing his brother to sit down.

"Well, you are a distraction to his "relationship' with women. Cut him some slack. He deserves it. Sit down. The kettle's just boiled."

"A distraction? Why?"

"Well, a flat-share with you means a battle..."

Before the older brother finished the sentence, Sherlock's eyes fleeted through the first page of the file.

"Did you find anything about Jim Moriarty? I gave you enough details about him, especially his connection to Carl Powers."

"No. As you said, I dug up the entire government database. There is no one that fits your description."

"Jim exposed himself. He almost decided to kill John and me until a phone call changed his mind. He's planning a next round."

Mycroft looked very serious.

"You said there were snipers, a lot of laser dots."

"I was aiming my gun to the Sam vest. Moriarty knew what the next course of my... our action would be: John and I were ready to take the sniper bullets, blowing up the most dangerous criminal mastermind in England. Moriarty didn't get scared. He seemed to be enjoying that moment."

Sherlock took a business card out of his shirt pocket.

"Moriarty had left his card and number when we first met in the lab. _Astronomical dynamics._ Can you track it down? His number's not working. It said Jim Zucco."

"Possibly it could be a ghost company that has already been shut down. The name must be an alias."

"Back to square one. Unless he contacts me, there's nothing."

Sherlock's eyes were gleeful. He looked like a child towering over boxes of wrapped Christmas presents. He seemed to be pleased to have an enemy who deserved his attention. Mycroft glanced at his brother's fervent face.

"He must have been behind numerous unsolved crimes home and abroad up to now. Sherlock. Consultant criminal. At least we know there is a mad man out there. Don't be too happy about him. He seemed to be very dangerous. The call this Moriarty bloke got at the pool. It had to be from his potential client. So he's going to pull up a quite big thing."

"A consulting criminal... That's it!"

Sherlock jumped up and muttered out an exclamation.

"Sherlock. Sit down. What?"

"John's blog. It has gained a quite sizable readership. Most of them are morons who think the solar system is important. Moriarty can pretend to be John's blog fan. There have been a few sussy anonymous comments. Uhgh, I should've noticed it. "

"What about your site?"

Abruptly Sherlock's gleeful face turned into a petulant one: he looked as if he had just eaten sour grapes. He muttered out in annoyance.

"People hardly comprehend my webpage. Anyway I need more clients. His blog will bring them in."

"So you're going to be busy for the time being."

"And I'll be fed up with morons with their personal trivia like adultery, missing pets, and relationship crisis."

* * *

A/N A weak spoiler.

Here is another behind-the-scene between 103 and 201. Since I saw the spoiler photos, I've been thinking Moriarty might have a sister, who might be the real spider... Or it could be something happened in John's head, while he was knocked down by a hiker.(and possibly a hypnotist?).

The blind woman's description keeps bothering me... Moriarty, the real one, might be a woman.

(I did write _Who is Moran_: in that story, Moran is a woman).

Can't wait too long for the season 3. Thanks for reading and your ideas about "real Moriarty" or "Moran" would be appreciated.


	6. A warning

Between TGG and SiB, Mycroft "kidnaps" the doctor. This is also a behind-the-scene story. Thanks for reading. Comments are welcome and appreciated.

* * *

Mycroft Holmes was reading the morning papers: to be more accurate, his eyes were fixed on the papers, but they weren't moving for minutes. John was running late: rather he had instructed his driver to take a detour to the club. He needed more time to think. A text alert woke him from the deep trance. He pocketed his mobile, and stood up. The doctor had arrived. John was standing at the doorway, looking like a stranger in every possible way. The older man walked into the Stranger's room and John followed him. The door closed softly.

"Sit down, John."

Mycroft pointed at a chair, and turned his back towards a beverage trolley.

"What do you want? Wine? Whisky? "

"This is still 10 o'clock in the morning, Mycroft. I didn't know you drink this early."

"Ah, I took a day off to read papers and enjoy a silent dialogue with myself."

At John's questioning look, he added.

"I am not a machine, John. Sometimes, I need to slow down. Which one?"

The older Holmes, as ever dressed impeccably, touched a wine bottle and asked again.

"Wine will do. Thanks, Mycroft."

Two glasses of red wine were set on the table. John took a sip from his glass. He couldn't but let out a small outcry.

"Wow. It has a balance."

"My favorite. It's brilliant and elegant. It can be consumed even in the morning."

John took another sip and enjoyed it immensely. He looked less nervous now. That was what Mycroft had intended: to let down John's defense.

"What is it that you wanted to see me today?"

"No particular reason. I just felt like to have a friendly chat with a friend…of my brother."

"There is a good news. Sherlock has managed to reduce the number of nicotine patches up to two."

Mycroft applauded silently with a smile.

"It's a great feat, John. Well done."

"Though not without a fight. I always play a hide-and- seek game with him. Mrs. Hudson suggested bravely that Sherlock bribe everystore in a two-mile radius not to sell him any tabacco or nicotine patches."

"Good old lady, Mrs. Hudson. Anyway Sherlock can deduce where you hide the patches. His whining..., haha, he just wants to get your attention."

The doctor fidgeted uncomfortably and asked,

"Attention?"

"Ah, I mean, Sherlock always wants a proof that someone cares for him. Like a boy in puberty, like a capricious cat, he behaves at his whim, but wants somebody at his side… He never let it out or recognise it, but, beneath the pretense of not caring, I still see a small boy in him. Well, anyway, if you can persuade him to quit the habit, it will be great. "

"Yes, eventually, I hope I could persuade him. He talks about a board game named a Cluedo?"

A rare look of sympathy fleeted across the older Holmes. The doctor noticed it and turned a bit pale as he heard Mycroft.

"Wow, that's dangerous, John. Playing it with my brother."

"You've been there, right?"

"Ah, Cluedo, like the chess, was the game that never ended when we played. It often took mummy to end the game: she sent us to our bedrooms after ten o'clock. We remembered where we ended the game and used to argue. My mother got tired and banned the game from the house."

John imagined the scene: the game would never end.

"You know we could play it together, the three of us…I am kidding. Good luck with that."

The older brother's eyes twinkled mischievously. The game with the two Holmes did sound nightmarish. John thought himself lucky to deal with only one of them. He took another ship and noticed the older Holmes' eyes fixated on his face.

"Yes, Mycroft?"

The older brother didn't touch his wine glass, and asked after seconds of hesitation.

"Are you okay, John? I've read the police report. A maniac… Do you need any counseling? If you do, then I can deal with it."

"Ah, the pool. Yes, I'm fine."

"What did exactly happen?"

"I was off to Sarah's. Someone tasered me and I woke up, in the booth of the pool. I didn't know Sherlock was there until I was told to walk out."

"The C4 explosives were enough to blow up the whole building, John."

"Yes, I noticed it. I was in the army."

"That man, the insane man… Moriarty? He has been responsible for the series of kidnappings. What did he want? The police report didn't detail it. Rather, Sherlock just gave a summary of the incident."

"He was interested in your brother. Moriarty was apparently giving us a warning; changed his mind and returned…"

"And the snipers?"

"How did you know there were snipers?"

"CCTV camera near the pool. My office had confiscated the recording. The grey windowless van was spotted. There were three men: the way they walked and the bag that they carried... We know when we see one."

John flinched as the memory revisited him so vivid and fresh. Mycroft pretended not to see it and continued.

"We've got the HR file of Jim Moriarty from Bart's. Nothing in the file is valid: his residence, name, CV... they are all fake. No finger prints on the personal items that he had at the IT department. No information whatsoever about Jim Moriarty except the close-up photo of him in the file. We've ran it in the government database..., but no match was found."

"Moriarty seemed to know the boy who died in that pool. Carl Powers? Sherlock remembered his death."

After a thought, John asked innocently.

"Have you talked with Sherlock after the pool? You could've gotten more details from him."

Mycroft smirked, got a sip of his wine, and said.

"You know it's Sherlock. Our last meeting didn't end well."

John sighed.

"He told me you were over the moon after he returned the USB memory stick. I got the impression that you two were good."

The older brother muttered out with greeted teeth.

"After the pool incident, I had to see him. First I had to check if he was okay. Second, there was a matter that I really had to deal with. Sherlock somehow had nullified the security of the memory stick, and copied the whole contents into a new memory stick before he returned it. We've recovered the duplicate memory stick from the pool. National security doesn't seem to matter to my brother."

"So you argued with..."

"Yes and he admitted that he shouldn't have done so grudgingly. He swore he won't take any case from me or the government again."

"Which started the second argument?"

"Obviously."

John couldn't find what to say so he drank more from his glass. Mycroft also drank the wine, sip by sip, in total silence.

"Well, Mycroft, thanks for the wine. Are we done?"

"The pool incident... I had told you when we first met. When you walk with my brother, you see a battle field. I welcomed you to the lonely war that my brother was fighting."

Mycroft inhaled deeply.

"I didn't expect you to grow into someone more than a flatmate at 221B Baker Street. I didn't expect that Sherlock would drag you into his cases. I thought you would leave after a few days. Sherlock is Sherlock…"

"And your point is…"

"John. Associating with my brother can put you in a great danger, a mortal danger. I thought I should warn you that the battlefield is real."

"I am aware of it."

Mycroft uttered out the next sentence with difficulties.

"For your safety, you'd better leave my brother and move on."

John took in the meaning of the dialogue for a minute; the older Holmes just glared at his wine glass. Then the doctor made an incredulous look as if he couldn't believe they were having this conversation.

"Are you worried about me?"

"Every British citizen matters to me. It's just…my motivation of making you stay with my brother was rather selfish. I needed someone who set his eyes on Sherlock. I would love to, but my approach seems to repel my brother."

Mycroft's eyes met the doctor's.

"My brother is a magnet for dangerous people. Leave and save your life. You had shot the cabbie and saved Sherlock. I owe you this much. John, I am giving you a chance for a self-preservation."

John finished his wine and set the glass on the table. His voice got husky and low as he realised the sincerity of Mycroft's words.

"Mycroft. I stay put. By the way, let me make it clear. We are not a couple."

Mycroft's mouth twitched a bit. John glanced at this and continued stiffly.

"You know how utterly helpless and desperate I was before I met Sherlock. In a way, he saved me. I've never felt this alive and well."

"You are on a fast track to self-destruction, John. You need to protect yourself."

"I am deeply moved that you're having this dialogue with me."

John stood up and made an assuring smile.

"Don't worry about me. Friends protect each other, and I've got your brother at my side. I will be fine."

Mycroft smiled back rather weakly, but his smile didn't reach to his eyes.

"One more thing, John. Why did Moriarty let you go?"

"He got a call from a stranger, possibly a potential client. He said it was a wrong day to die…"

John's face turned darker as he remembered.

"He said Sherlock would hear from him later. So…"

"The stillness before a storm. We wait until he makes a move."

"I guess so."

Mycroft stood up and held out his hand to John. After a brief handshake, the older brother said.

"So what are you going to do?"

"I'll keep my blog. It seems more clients are knocking on the door after they read my blog. Also, I will see to it that Sherlock quit smoking."

"Good luck, John."

John laughed and said,

"Yes, I will need a hell of luck for that."

"The driver's waiting at the front door. Thanks for coming."

"As if I got a choice of not coming... Good bye, Mycroft."

"See you around."

John smirked at this and left the room. Mycroft's smile vanished instantly. Jim Moriarty was doing something sinister. The older Holmes had to find him before any harms being done to Sherlock and John. He called his assistant to pick him up to go back to the office.

* * *

Being the oldest of the family, I always sympathise with Mycroft Holmes:-) Thanks for reading.


End file.
